Harry Potter and the Heir of Atlantis
by stella8h8chang
Summary: MY 1ST STORY HERE EVER: Harry returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year...and learns beyond his wildest dreams...NB: I keep this here for nostalgia's sake. Fortunately my 14y.o. self never finished this terrible tale. DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU LIKE MARY-SUES.
1. Chapter 1: The Return to Hogwarts

Harry Potter and the Heir of Atlantis  
  
Chapter 1: The Return to Hogwarts  
  
The world was completely dark, and the wind was rushing past him. Harry tried to scream, but the pressure of the air tightly sealed his mouth. He tried to move, but his limbs were restricted. He was falling…until a shining shape swooped up from below. He woke with a start.  
  
"Okay, sleeping beauty, have you awakened yet?" Ron asked in a sarcastic tone. Harry was, once again, aboard the Hogwarts Express, which was skidding along the still-tame countryside.   
  
"That was some dream…" Harry mused.  
  
"Oh no…don't you dare…" Hermione protested.  
  
"Don't we dare what?" Ron quizzed.  
  
"…Go on about all that divination junk. I can't stand all that woolly trash and you know it for a fact."  
  
"Shut up," Harry snapped abruptly.   
  
"What the…" Ron turned around. He didn't even bother to finish his sentence as he spotted a short figure skating along the corridor.   
  
"Hi there!" Cho Chang stuck her head around the door to the compartment where Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting. Although Cho had dated Michael Corner during the holidays, he was still feeling friendly.  
  
"Hi, Cho!" Harry replied enthusiastically. He shoved Ron out of the way to make a space for her to sit down. However, Cho parked herself next to Hermione instead, and Harry bit his lip and tried to hide his disappointment. "How are you? How've your holidays been?"   
  
"Nothing much…" Cho drawled, until she was suddenly cut off. "I thought I told you to go off and plonk yourself somewhere!" she resumed angrily, as they turned to face a little girl wearing black platform shoes, blue tights, a very short but ruffled pink skirt, a tight pink shirt, a blue sailor scarf tied with a big red flower-clasp, a little blue cape and what looked like strawberries in her…blue…pigtails. Hermione eyed her with obvious distaste. "Is she an obscure friend of a friend of yours?" she asked Cho.  
  
"She actually happens to be my sister."  
  
"Aaaahhh…how…er…what a…quaint little…costume?" Ron struggled to be polite.  
  
"What a cute little girl!" Harry exclaimed, being more successful in gaining Cho's approval.  
  
"Cute is the only way to describe her, at ten years of age and dressing like Cardcaptor Sakura."  
  
"Who's Cardcaptor Sakura?" Harry was confused.  
  
"A cartoon from a Japanese television show…about a girl who runs around the world trying to capture cards with magical powers…"  
  
"Wait a moment," Hermione interrupted. "Ten? Am I hearing correctly? What day is her birthday next week?"  
  
"Her birthday is December eleventh," Cho answered.  
  
"That's miles away!" Ron shouted.  
  
"Months," snapped Cho, "get it right."  
  
"Sorry," he mumbled.  
  
"I'm in an accelerated program," the girl spoke for the first time. There was a strange slight accent in her voice, which was moderately high-pitched.  
  
"But there aren't any programs at Hogwarts!" Hermione spluttered.  
  
"Well, they gave me permission to enter Hogwarts early…" she replied, in a distinctly Texan drawl.  
  
"Excuse me, I'm going to change into my robes now," Hermione squeaked, as she ran down the corridor.  
  
"Wait!" Harry tried to hold his friend back, but she dashed out of his grip. When he returned to the compartment, the girl was gone and Cho was looking out of the window.   
  
"Where did she go?"  
  
"She? I thought you were looking for Hermione."  
  
"No, your…sister…"  
  
"It's in her nature to be elusive – some game she plays. Leave her alone, she's a one-girl band."   
  
"Let's change the subject," Hermione slipped back into the compartment.  
  
"I thought you were getting changed?"   
  
"No, it's too early," Hermione frowned.  
  
"Never mind…"  
  
"That girl, did you see her slip out, Ron?"  
  
"No," Ron admitted, "I was too busy watching the window…we thought we saw a broomstick fly past…"  
  
"Typical…" Hermione muttered. "Let's change the subject."  
  
They rambled on, gossiping about absolutely nothing in particular, until it was night and they reached the station. They clambered into the awaiting carriages and shut the doors quickly, for it was freezing cold for a September night. The driverless carriages started on their slow, journey on the pot-hole-filled road towards Hogwarts from Hogsmeade station. Harry caught sight of the girl once again, through the window. He saw her hand first – a long-fingered one, so white that it was nearly transparent. She rested it lightly on the edge of the door of the train, then lightly skipped the step and jumped over the gap. Harry saw that her trunk was black, with fake glass gems decorating it, and it had little wheels on it so that she dragged it behind her quite easily. As they grouped themselves into boats, she was the one left out. Harry caught a last glimpse of her, standing with her chin held high and her eyes closed. She pulled her hat off, and the Autumn breeze blew her hair out like a flag. It was long, and…navy…Harry tried to put it to a trick of the light, but then he saw her eyes, which stared straight into his.  
  
They were the colour of dancing rainbows.  
  
  
  
The Hat sang its song, the food appeared and Hermione began to fervently attack the treatment of the Hogwarts elves. However, this year, she managed to eat her fill without feeling overrun by guilt. Ron stuffed himself as usual, and Nearly Headless Nick reminisced fondly with the new first years. Then Harry noticed something upon the teacher's platform.  
  
"I know," Ron mumbled between mouthfuls. "Lupin's back."  
  
"No, it's not that. Look to his right."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's a piano." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'd expect you two to be well versed enough in music to be able to recognise such a common instrument."  
  
"Dudley isn't exactly musical, you know. And pianos…they can cost as much as ten thousand each."  
  
"What do you expect? They're huge! And I'd expect that one to cost…I don't know…seventy thousand if it was second hand?"  
  
"What? For a block of wood?"  
  
"It's huge! It's a concert-size!"  
  
Dumbledore rose.  
  
"Surrexit Dumbledorus," Stella-Hermione mouthed in their direction.  
  
"What?" spat Ron.  
  
"I think it's another language."  
  
"Shut up!" Harry hushed, yearning to hear his headmaster's words.  
  
"This year the school will be providing another elective subject, available to only sixth years and above." There were groans from the audience. "It is a senior subject that can be taken for the NEWT examinations. The name of this subject is music."  
  
"What does music have to do with magic?" yelled Draco Malfoy.  
  
"I was just about to inform you of that, before I was interrupted by Mr Malfoy." Dumbledore coolly continued, as usual.  
  
"Otherwise known as scum of the earth," muttered Ron under his breath.  
  
"As I once told some of you four years ago, music is a magic beyond what we teach. We have decided that, as music is a powerful asset. Sixth years may choose to take music as a subject, which will include courses in singing and an instrument of choice. You will be taught by Sephrenia Redwoods, a very experienced and talented student. In fact, she had reached the level of the elite by the time she was ten."  
  
Sephrenia had black hair, black hair and black-rimmed glasses.  
  
"Look! It's like a female version of you!" squealed little Colin Creevey.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron imitated her.  
  
"Actually, I don't like to be called Professor if you please, or Madam, for that matter – you can all see – I'm not old enough to be your mother – I think you should all call me Scout."  
  
"Yes, well, then Scout it shall be," Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes dancing like stars. "I would like to invite Stella-Hermione Chang, an advanced student of Scout's, to play on our newly purchased Steinway concert-size or D-size grand?"  
  
Stella-Hermione Chang tottered over from the Ravenclaw table and sat at the piano, which wheeled itself out to the centre where it was visible to all.   
  
"This is Rondo Alla Turca, by Mozart."   
  
There's something not right about that girl." Ron hissed as they left the hall, genuinely concerned.  
  
"So…we have a girl here who streaks her hair blue, wears radically-coloured contact lenses, seems to be one step ahead of our own Gryffindor Genius, dresses like something out of Sailormoon…"  
  
"Not Sailormoon, Cardcaptors, get it right," growled Ron.  
  
"…Has an obsession with sparkly objects and literally stalks me. I think there's more than something wrong with her." Harry continued.  
  
"Leave her be," Hermione replied. "She's another one of those who've been brought up on Harry Potter the Superhero. She's like a worse-off version of Ginny and Colin combined. She's just another very rebellious techno teen of the mid 90's. She's not dangerous, far from it, in fact."  
  
Just then, Stella-Hermione appeared between Harry and Hermione, who had been standing directly opposite each other with barely a foot in between. However, she vanished before anyone could even grab onto her cloak.  
  
"Correction," Ron pointed out. "She's more than dangerous, she's…life-threatening!" 


	2. Chapter 2: Back in the School Swing

Chapter 2: Back in the School Swing  
  
This year," coughed Professor Binns, "we will begin work on the destroyed ancient city of Atlantis."  
  
Seamus' hand shot up.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"But Professor, isn't Atlantis just a myth?"  
  
"The muggles would certainly believe so. However, the wizarding world has solid proof that it existed. As you know, some Atlanteans left their city before it was destroyed and sought refuge among the magic folk. They too possessed the ability to perform magic. Unfortunately, they were forbidden to marry outside their race and were slowly killed off by people who believed they were dangerous."  
  
At the end of the lesson, they looked back at Stella-Hermione, who was even more bleached than usual.   
  
"They died…all of them…from Rou-Nathaniel down to Rai-Samina …"  
  
"Stella-Hermione, quit being a cry-baby," snapped Hermione. "Act your age!"  
  
"Er, Hermione, keep in mind that she is only ten years old…she's just thrown into our year because she got home-schooled or some other junk like that." Ron pointed out.  
  
"I don't believe it…" Stella-Hermione muttered. "All those lives…cut short like cut flowers…like Mockingbirds…it was a sin to kill them..."  
  
"Well, they were dangerous. Look what they did to their city! Benighted by greed and avarice."  
  
"How do you know? You don't know anything! You never understood…you never tried! Not everybody was like that - it was only that corrupt dictatorship that grew out of the ashes of the empire!"  
  
Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron by their shoulders, and dragged them off. "Go back to your books, small fry, and keep out of the way of the sixth-years."  
  
"Hermione…"  
  
"She's not worth our time. I'm going to make a beeline for the Great Hall – I'm starving; aren't you coming with me?"  
  
Reluctantly Ron followed her. Harry lingered behind for a few precious moments, giving Stella-Hermione what he hoped looked like an apologetic smile, before rushing off to join his friends.  
  
  
  
"Are you considering signing up for the music classes?" Hermione gasped. "Why would you do that, Harry? You're not in the least musically inclined."  
  
"Some kind of friend you are, preventing me from trying out new things. I thought friends were supposed to be a form of encouragement."  
  
"No, I'm just trying to protect you from failure!"  
  
"How do you know I'm bad at music?"  
  
"I'm just predicting."  
  
"I thought you walked out of divination!"  
  
"What she means is she is making an educated guess from your situation."  
  
"I don't want to know where that voice came from…" Ron moaned without turning around.  
  
"Well, that's all right, then!" Cho walked off in a huff.  
  
"Thanks a lot, Ron."  
  
"I thought you were over her?"  
  
"Still, it's not very polite, is it?"  
  
"Hello, Harry!" Cho walked by the group standing at the noticeboard. "Sorry I can't chat – I'm due in the library – NEWTS this year."  
  
"Wait a moment. Didn't you…" Harry cut himself off.  
  
"I'm signing up," Hermione burst in.  
  
"So am I." Ron grabbed a quill.  
  
"Ron, the lessons…they're on Saturday mornings – are you insane? We have Quidditch the night before – do you expect to be able to cope?" Harry asked incredulously.  
  
"I think I can. I mean, singing's a piece of cake. And the guitar doesn't look too hard, does it?"  
  
"I don't know about you, but I will. Music has the power to drive off evil, and it'll make you smarter. You know, maths and music and history all go together." Hermione scratched her name with a tiny flourish.  
  
"All right, I don't want to be left out. That's my excuse. Count me in."  
  
  
  
"As we expected, of course, creepy girl is on piano." Hermione bobbed her head towards the large grand piano, which had now moved itself into the classroom where they were about to take their first music lesson.  
  
"Who here can sing?" asked Scout.  
  
"Nobody dared to put up their hand, except for Hermione.  
  
Well, I'm sure you're all talented students – did you know that tone deafness is an extremely rare condition? I'm close to definite that every one of you would be able to squeeze out a few notes. So, Stella-Hermione…you know what to do…what's a song that everybody knows?"  
  
"How about the national anthem…Miss…um…" asked Hermione. The class groaned and grumbled.  
  
"Just call me Scout. Come on, guys? What's on the radio now?" Scout asked.  
  
"I know!" piped up Stella-Hermione. "How about 'American Pie'? Everybody knows that tune!" With that, she picked out a few notes on the piano.  
  
"Let's see…I think if we put it into D then it would work, wouldn't it, Scout?"  
  
"I don't see why not. It's quite a neutral key."  
  
"Right. Here we go, then!  
  
A long long time ago   
  
I can still remember   
  
How that music used to make me smile   
  
And I knew if I had my chance   
  
That I could make those people dance   
  
And maybe they'd be happy for a while   
  
But February made me shiver   
  
¡¡¡¡with every paper I'd deliver   
  
Bad news on the doorstep   
  
I couldn't take one more step   
  
I can't remember if I cried   
  
When I read about his widowed bride   
  
But something touched me deep inside   
  
The day the music died   
  
So..."  
  
"Okay, everybody, let's see how you go just for a trial run!" The class began to chorus.  
  
"Bye, bye Miss American Pie   
  
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry   
  
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye   
  
Singing this'll be the day that I die   
  
This'll be the day that I die"  
  
Scout clapped. "Well done! For first-timers, that was actually quite good!"  
  
"Is it me," asked Hermione, "Or do we sound awful?"  
  
"She's just being polite. But by the time she's finished with us I bet we'll all be opera singers. Look at Cho's sister." Ron reassured.  
  
"No, I don't think it's her. I mean, I think it's not Scout, it's Stella-Hermione. You know, she just sits at the piano and plays a random tune and then…"  
  
"Harry, you're rambling and I can't understand you," Hermione ignored.  
  
"So – you all sound pretty decent – we'll work on vocals for half a year, then we'll go onto an instrument of your choice. That's what you'll have to start thinking about. I'd advise any of you who already play an instrument to stick to that, since as you know, learning a new one is never easy."  
  
"Except for LMP, little Miss Perfect Stella-Hermione Chang…" Hermione whispered. 


	3. Chapter 3: To Plunge a Mockingbird

Chapter 3: To Plunge a Mockingbird  
  
"When does Quidditch start?" Ron was clearly eager as he brought the subject up over dinner. "I can't wait this year – Charlie came back and he's been coaching me."  
  
"But what about me?" Harry's face fell. "Umbridge banned me."  
  
"I would not worry about it if I were you," Professor McGonagal was standing right behind Harry, which made everybody jump.  
  
"Professor…"  
  
"As you know, Professor Umbridge has been sack…sorry, outvoted, and has left the Ministry of Magic. So any regulations she set in place have now been declared invalid."  
  
Harry felt glad that Professor McGonagal was standing there to prevent him from leaping and strangling Malfoy, who was within range, with his joy.  
  
"Oh – I forgot to tell you all – Dad – he's the school supervisor now!"  
  
"You forgot to tell us?"  
  
"Well, we're trying to keep it quiet – you know…Dad's…"  
  
"Reputation," Harry finished.  
  
"Yeah…and a lot of people don't agree, and so he's lying low at the moment."  
  
Harry was distracted by Draco Malfoy striding across the corner of his eye. Walking next to him was Pansy Parkinson…no…wait…  
  
"What's Stella-Hermione doing with Draco Malfoy?"  
  
Harry choked on a piece of bread, and he spun around in his chair, falling out of it. Ron caught the chair, but let Harry crumple onto the floor.  
  
"Are you all right, mate?" Ron asked in shock.  
  
"Stella-Hermione…was she…"   
  
"I don't understand what you're babbling about. Perhaps Professor Snape was right – you do deserve a dose of potion."  
  
"But she…" Harry broke off, looking where she had been a moment ago.  
  
  
  
"Ron's right – that girl is not someone strange, but something strange! Harry – you've got to keep away from her! She'll cast something on you – I don't know what at the moment – it could be some kind of mental curse – oh, be careful, Harry!"  
  
The three of them were working on Atlantis essays for History of Magic. Harry threw down his quill, afeeling utterly outraged. "Look, Hermione, you're only jealous of her because you've been the star of Hogwarts for five years and now you don't want to give you your position!" Harry prepared to storm off and down to the quidditch pitch alone. He had already picked up his Firebolt from Professor McGonagal.  
  
"But Harry – she's playing on your mind – it's not a good idea to mess with her – you even said she's…"  
  
"Fraternising with Draco Malfoy? Well, I must have imagined it. It's not possible, I mean, Draco wouldn't associate with girls like her – he's so attached to Pansy."  
  
"Harry, you have to watch out for her! What if she's Umbridge's messenger or something? Look at her – she's running around changing Hogwarts. She's brought a piano. She's brought music lessons. She's going to skate on the lake when it freezes this winter. And have you ever seen that stationery of hers?"  
  
"No," Harry replied. "Why?"  
  
"She cuts her parchment into little pieces and punches holes in them to put them in muggle folders. And holographic ones at that, with her picture – what an egoist."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Well, isn't it easier to cheat the length? I mean, there's always a bit that gives when you cut it."  
  
"It's just another way of organising work, and you're jealous just because it's better than yours."  
  
"Excuse me, Harry, but I am perfectly satisfied with my system of rolled parchment."  
  
"Won't you give her a break? She's a child, she's younger than all of us put together!"  
  
"Well, why do you care so much about her? You're always defending her."  
  
"I thought you got over Cho!"  
  
"She has nothing to do with Cho."  
  
"Oh yeah – she's her sister."  
  
"They're practically divorced!"  
  
"The word isn't 'divorced', Harry, it's disowned."  
  
"Let's get out of here – I'm going to the pitch now."  
  
"Ron, there's forty-five minutes!"  
  
"So what? Nobody's going to be there at this hour."   
  
  
  
Surprise, surprise – the pitch was not deserted, as Ron had believed before, but the Ravenclaw team appeared to be doing a practice. On closer inspection, however, it appeared to be only two people – Cho and her sister.  
  
"Cho!" Harry cried out instinctively. She turned around and strode off the pitch. Harry dropped his broomstick and ran after her, but Ron stopped him.   
  
"Do you want Hermione to have another excuse, mate?"  
  
"Another excuse to what?"  
  
"To accuse you of…with Stella-Hermione Chang!"  
  
"Why have you started calling me mate all of a sudden?"  
  
"I did that last year too, you know."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"My cousin from Australia came over – and he always uses it – I suppose I just picked it up."  
  
"You have an Australian cousin?"  
  
"Yeah, mate."  
  
"Wizard?"  
  
"No, witch. And a half-blood at that. Well, so-called half blood, because her father's pureblood and her mother's muggle-born. Looks just like you, mate – you know, the eyes and stuff."  
  
"You mean like Scout?"  
  
"Not quite like Scout. I just noticed – you know, Scout's eyes change colour all the time. She must wear contacts." Ron declared curtly.   
  
"But what's her name?"  
  
"They call her Harriet – isn't that cute? Just like you. Scout's a Metamorphmagus, I expect – her hair colour's changed too – it's gone blue over the last few weeks. And she ditched the glasses. I'll bet she wore them just to look smarter. Not that she doesn't look like a big tech already, but…"  
  
"Let's just fly away. Let's fly away to where we can forget about Hermione and Harriet and Scout and Stella-Hermione."  
  
"Great, mate." They mounted their brooms and kicked off the ground.   
  
  
  
Harry had been up in the air countless times before, but every single time his Firebolt took off above the ground, it still managed to evoke that same rush of adrenaline and high feeling. Even the flight with Mad-Eye Moody in the past year had been unable to dampen the fires that flying only fanned. When he was away from the earth, he forgot about everything – about Hermione's fury, Scout's eccentricity, Cho's avoidance and Stella-Hermione's obsession. Ron had to bring him back to the planet.  
  
"You all right, mate?"  
  
"Yes – I was just in another world for the moment."  
  
"So nothing's changed, has it?"  
  
Right then, the boys heard an ear-piercing shriek that chilled their blood to the bones.  
  
"What was that?" Harry spiralled sharply, to see a blue blur tumbling out of the sky.  
  
"Oh my god! It's Stella-Hermione!" Harry proceeded to swoop down to the ground, Ron hot on his trail.   
  
  
  
"Sheesh! The kind of things that kid has!" Ron exclaimed. "She's got a Firebolt too!"  
  
"What?" Harry wasn't listening; he was more concerned with the little figure lying on the ground. "Are you all right, Stella-Hermione?"  
  
The tiny girl looked up. She seemed "all right" – she was sitting placidly, and nibbling a chocolate frog.  
  
"Yes, I'm all right – why? I'm reading this fantastic book by Harper Lee - it's called 'To Kill a Mockingbird'"  
  
"Didn't you…just…fall…off…your…broomstick?" Harry stuttered.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, didn't you?"  
  
She shook her head. "I've been watching you intently though, and I think you're marvellous – would you teach me how to fly? I don't know how to; see, that's why it couldn't have been me up in the air – you must be seeing things. Hey, do you want some of my chocolate?" she broke off a generous chunk and handed it to Harry.  
  
"Well – yeah, okay. Thanks." Ron dragged him away.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"She gave you the bit she put her mouth on!"  
  
"So?"  
  
"Germs, Harry!"  
  
"It's nothing Madam Pomfrey can't solve."  
  
"Harry, you are impossible sometimes."  
  
"Seeing things…Ron, could I be seeing things? Remember I was hearing things last time in the second year."  
  
"But they turned out to be real, didn't they?"  
  
"You've contradicted yourself."  
  
"Whatever. Don't let me catch you talking like her again."  
  
  
  
Back in the common room, Hermione was unimpressed.  
  
"Harry, how many times have your guardians taught you to never accept food from strangers, especially if it came from their mouths?"  
  
"Never." This was true – the Dursleys had never made a big deal about cleanliness when it came to Harry. To them, he was so filthy already that a bit more dirt wouldn't make a difference.  
  
"Well, Harry – you could have put yourself at risk of many diseases, such as the common cold, the flu, glandular fever and more."  
  
"As I said before, nothing Madam Pomfrey can't fix."  
  
"Oh, Harry, will you be more careful? What if that girl has something like rabies?"  
  
"Gosh, Hermione, I never believed you to be the imaginative type."  
  
"Shut up, Harry, we all know you like her – you don't have to rub it in."  
  
"Me, like Stella-Hermione Chang? Come on, Hermione – she's a first year, and she's ten at that. Six years."  
  
"My parents are ten years apart," Hermione murmured darkly.  
  
"Well, I want to go to sleep now. Is that all right with you?"  
  
Harry skipped the trick stair of the dormitory flight, and climbed into his already-warm bed. He was looking forwards to a good night's sleep, until a little face peeped around the scarlet curtains of his four-poster bed.  
  
"Harry Potter, sir!"  
  
"Dobby!" the tennis-ball eyes were as distinctive as ever. "How are you?"  
  
"Dobby is fine, sir! Dobby has been having a whale of a time!"  
  
"A whale of a time?"  
  
"Ah, 'tis a new phrase a friend of mine taught me."  
  
"A friend?"  
  
"Yes – so early this year and I have been able to make a new friend. I listen to her as I listen to you – I am bound to."  
  
"What, does Draco have a sister? Is a grand-daughter of Dumbledore here?"  
  
"Oh, I promised her I would not tell Harry Potter, sir. But you shall find out soon enough! She told me to give you this."  
  
In Dobby's outstretched hand was a packet of Chocoballs, chocolate-coated spheres filled with strawberry mousse and rich cream. 


	4. Chapter 4: Mocking Music

Chapter 4: Mocking Music  
  
"A secret admirer now, have you, Harry?" asked Ron.  
  
"What else do you call them? Stalkers?" Hermione snapped.  
  
"And she's either a sister of Draco's or a relative of Dumbledore's – that's why Dobby obeys her."  
  
"Draco has no sisters. Besides, he's free! And why on earth would he follow orders from a tormenting family like the Malfoys?"  
  
"You're right as usual, Hermione," Ron's eyes glazed over.  
  
"A relative of Dumbledore's…remember what Sirius said last year when he showed you the family tree? Everyone's a cousin some way or another."  
  
"Interesting point – perhaps it's some great-granddaughter…you know, Dumbledore's 150 years old – so that would probably work…or would we have to go down to great-great-great granddaughter?"  
  
"Never mind that."  
  
They made their way down to the Great Hall, where the post was just arriving. Pigwidgeon swooped down, bearing the tiniest letter imaginable.  
  
"Wow!" Hermione exclaimed when she saw the letter. The print was as small as her own writing, and there were delicately drawn sketches adorning the margins. "Another anime fan has joined the wizarding world."  
  
"It's my cousin, Harriet."  
  
"Harry n' Harriet," chorused Ginny. "Harriet's about your age too. Similar height as well."  
  
"Who are you to judge Harry's height?"  
  
"I can tell…because, when I stand next to Harry, I come up to his shoulder. When I stand next to Harriet, I come up to her shoulder too."  
  
"Big deal."  
  
"What does the letter say, Ron?"  
  
"It says…" Ron opened the letter. "She's won a scholarship to come here."  
  
"Hogwarts gives out scholarships? I never knew that – so do you mean – I could have won a scholarship and got here free?" Hermione looked ready to explode.  
  
"Well, apparently it's for foreign students – it only pays for their muggle airfares. It's for muggle-born children overseas who are exceptional. And the countries have to be affiliated with Britain. That's because apparently Hogwarts is one of the top schools in the world. What's affiliated?"  
  
"Oh…that's better then. Thank goodness. Affiliated means…associated with…"  
  
"Darn…out go France and the USA."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Bill and Charlie say all the hot chicks are there."  
  
"Ron!!" Once again, Hermione was appalled.   
  
"Did she ever go to magic school before?"  
  
"Yes – in Australia they've got schools too. Shame I don't remember the names of any of them…you'll have to ask her when she comes at Christmas. She says she'll keep writing and she wants us to write back and tell her 'all about Hogwarts'. Fantastic."  
  
The weather was getting colder, and the fact of science that "hot air rises" didn't help Harry and his fellow Gryffindors when they were suffering double potions down in the deepest dungeon.   
  
"Polyjuice Potion is a very advanced, very complex potion. We will not test out this potion as the Ministry of Magic does not permit students trialling upon each other. Instead, we will be making some modifications and stewing my own version of the Polyjuice Potion, which will enable you to present it to an animal and transform it into a tortoise for five minutes."  
  
"Dang, that takes all the fun out of it!" Ron hissed in Harry's ear. Neville leaned too close to his fire whilst he was stirring his Polyjuice Potion and set himself on fire. Neville was left to writhe on the floor of the dungeon, rolling out all the flames he could.  
  
"Careless boy – you haven't changed a bit since first year, have you? Take him away, Mr Weasley."  
  
Ron winced when he saw the third-degree burns and smelt the singed flesh, but he led Neville, whimpering, away.  
  
"Now – this is a week-long project – you will leave your potions simmering here, and over the next few lessons you will add more lacewing flies, and this time next Friday, you will come back and sample them out."  
  
"I'm not sacrificing poor Hedwig," Harry declared to Hermione.  
  
"Harry, we've done this before – it's exactly the same thing we did four years ago, except that there's a few more ingredients, and it doesn't stew for as long."  
  
"I won't take any chances."  
  
"Well then, suit yourself. Fail potions. I'm going to find Ron."  
  
Harry felt forlornly lonesome. He went to the music room, hoping to find Scout there, and hoping that she might teach him how to play the piano and mesmerize an audience the way Stella-Hermione did.   
  
Harry opened the door just a crack, to the sound of live music. Someone on a slightly squeaky violin was sawing away at some complicated chords very violently.  
  
"No, Runa, you have to do it like this." The violin was obviously seized as some sweet-sounding notes came out. "Now you try it."  
  
"Runa, you know I can never be bothered when it comes to violin."  
  
"Why can't you care about violin the way you care about piano?"  
  
"The violin is my second instrument! I only play it so I can go on tour with the orchestra twice! By the way," her tone switched completely, "Have you read 'To Kill A Mockingbird' by Harper Lee? It's great – I've read it for about the fifth time or something."   
  
"Oh come on – let's go from the start. One, two, three…"  
  
Stella-Hermione Chang lifted her bow with a flourish, and brought down a note with a slight scratch, followed with a ringing vibration.  
  
"Vibrato, please, Runa."  
  
"I'm trying!"  
  
"You're in sixth grade. I'd expect better of you."  
  
Stella-Hermione's hands were rattling as if she had arthritis as her dextrous fingers pressed down in different places on the neck of the violin. She continuously made scrapes when she brought the bow in her right hand at the wrong speed, or at the wrong angle, as Scout snapped at her. Seven or eight minutes later, Stella-Hermione brought down her bow in a long sweeping stroke, and tossed her hair back.  
  
"Did I make an improvement?"  
  
"I suppose so…that'll do for now…okay...do you want to do theory now?"  
  
"Hang theory. I've got through millennia without it."  
  
"Suit yourself."  
  
Harry coughed.  
  
"Oh, Harry! What're you doing in here?" asked Scout.  
  
"Well – I had some free time – Hermione and Ron are off at the hospital wing with Neville – he's burnt himself – and I thought…"  
  
"Well I'm glad you've come here. Have you considered what instrument you're going to do next semester?"  
  
"Er…no…"  
  
"Well, do you want to try my violin?" piped in Stella-Hermione.  
  
"Sure…" Harry took it from her.  
  
"Well, what you do, is you put it up on your left shoulder, and you take the bow in your right hand, and…bend your thumb and stuff it in the joint here…put your pinky finger on the end…not quite that far…put your second finger on the silver bit and hang your other fingers over…"  
  
"Right…I'm tangled now…"  
  
"No – you've got it right. Now pull it down."  
  
Harry closed his eyes and pulled the bow down, and it made a sound.  
  
"Right – that's E. Now play the string to the left of it." Another note came out. "That's an A. now you play A, and then E, and then E again. Then you put your finger on this stripe…" Scout waved her wand and a spot appeared. "That's F," continued Stella-Hermione. "Now play E again." Now put your third finger on this blue spot, then your second on the yellow spot, and your first on the red spot, and then A again."  
  
"You just played 'twinkle, twinkle little star' on violin, do you realize that?"  
  
Harry was spellbound. In the space of ten minutes, he had learnt to play a violin, a difficult stringed instrument!  
  
"Well, your intonation could do with a bit but that'll come," Scout screwed up her face.  
  
"Ru…I mean, Scout…can I show Harry the piano too?"  
  
"If you must…"  
  
Stella-Hermione leapt up and ran over to the great grand piano, which had been moved in here. "I took the other one back home because my parents missed it – it's their link to me, the piano. Sit here – you can have this half of the seat – I'll play a song that's all the way up above middle C."  
  
Scout's eyebrows went up.  
  
"Oh, Harry," she pointed out, as he sidled alongside her. "You've got an eyelash on your cheek. I'll get it off." She brushed his cheek with her hand. "There – it's gone now. I'll play you…I know…this one's called the Latin Prelude. It's contemporary – you might like it, because it was only written six years ago. It's by Chris Norton…"   
  
She crossed over him. "Oh…sorry about that…I forgot the low A." Scout's eyes were sparkling violet. "I'm going to teach you how to play…"  
  
"Sorry – I'd better go now – Hermione will be wondering where on earth I got up to." 


	5. Chapter 5: Tamer of Fire

Chapter 5: Tamer of Fire  
  
Harry had to suppress a flood of accusations when Hermione and Ron arrived from the hospital wing, and they all sat down for dinner.  
  
"Why are you turning into a try-hard all of a sudden?" asked Ron. "Are you trying to show us up in music?"  
  
"Ron, I'm not trying anything – I was just…bored…"  
  
"Yeah, bored, when you had a Charms essay to do?"  
  
"You know what I mean – and besides – you can sing and so can Hermione."  
  
"Me? Sing? Have you heard me? What's gotten into you?"  
  
"No, what's gotten into you, Ron, why are you so sensitive about music?"  
  
There was an awkward pause.  
  
"Well…it's just that you've got flying and Hermione's got intelligence…and I thought I could get somewhere in music…"  
  
"Because you can sort of sing…"  
  
"Yeah…"  
  
"Chudley Cannons chants, of course."  
  
"Hermione, there's no need to be so blunt! As if you aren't already good at music – you're so good at piano and stuff like that."  
  
"I only play the piano when I go home for the holidays! So how can I possibly be good at it?"  
  
"You just can…the way you're good at everything!"  
  
"I'm not speaking to you anymore, Hermione, if you continue to put on this fake show of modesty." Harry marched off to sit next to Colin and Dennis Creevey, who listened intently to his every word and never made a sound in reply. Nobody but him noticed that Ron and Hermione were creeping out the door of the Great Hall.  
  
Ron did not return that night, as far as Harry knew. At one time he decided to look out the window, but he changed his mind and chose to snatch some sleep.  
  
  
  
The idea of forcing Hedwig to drink a potentially dangerous brew still petrified Harry, and he was plotting to get her out of the school somehow. But Hermione and Ron were deserting him like the leaves were deserting their trees, as he crunched through the layers of grounded foliage in the Hogwarts grounds.  
  
He heard another sound behind him, crisping its way through the autumn windfall, and he turned around.   
  
A magnificent Thestral was bounding through the fallen plants. Its coat was ablaze and its mane was like a living flame. Its eyes seemed to be windows to a raging inferno. The one controlling this firestorm was…  
  
  
  
"It's Stella-Hermione again…it's as if she's choosing to haunt me…"  
  
The second Thestral pounded by, dappled with bronze and blue, with tresses like Deep Ocean ripples.   
  
"Have you ever ridden a horse before?" Stella-Hermione asked Harry.  
  
"Er…no…"  
  
"Well, there's always a first time!"  
  
Harry was swept off his feet as Stella-Hermione whisked him atop the fire-Thestral.   
  
"Look, it's easy – just hold onto me."  
  
"Are you sure you're ten years old?" yelled Harry.  
  
"What's age to you?"  
  
"Because you seem to act like somebody older."  
  
"Well, isn't age so superficial? I mean – some people don't even know your age – and it's so easy to pretend, you know."  
  
"I don't know where this conversation is going!"  
  
"Well, haven't you ever gone free?"  
  
"You have the craziest views of anybody I've ever known – even Hermione!"  
  
"What, you mean about worrying about being expelled and thinking Professor Trewlawny is an old fraud?"  
  
"Not quite."  
  
"Oh – SPEW – yeah, I do believe in equal rights for all creatures, even more patriotically than Hermione."  
  
"You use bigger words than she does."  
  
"Yes, I do believe I have an expanded vocabulary."  
  
"But you are strange – you play the piano, you bring music to Hogwarts, according to Hermione, you ice skate, you appear in the strangest of places…and…you ride these…Thestrals…"  
  
"They're nothing – I've tackled greater creatures before."  
  
"Stella-Hermione, Thestrals are dangerous – everyone knows that – they can eat people!"  
  
"I'm a vegetarian, so they know I don't mean any harm, even if they are carnivorous. This one – I'm calling her Spirit – I've managed to convert her to at least a scavenger. And she eats lots of vegetables now."  
  
"You talk about Spirit as if she was a child!"  
  
"Well, in a way, compared to me, she is."  
  
Harry was puzzled by this.  
  
"I know what you're thinking," she persisted. "I'll bet you're like everyone else now – you think I'm something off this planet…you know, I love the movie Pocahontas – I like it in a similar way that I like TKAM – To Kill A Mockingbird!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"There's a beautiful little song called 'Colours of the Wind'!"  
  
"Can you sing it?"  
  
"Sure! I was going to anyway – you're reading my mind."  
  
  
  
"You think I'm an ignorant savage  
  
And you've been so many places  
  
I guess it must be so  
  
But still I cannot see  
  
If the savage one is me  
  
Now can there be so much that you don't know?  
  
You don't know ...  
  
You think you own whatever land you land on  
  
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim  
  
But I know every rock and tree and creature  
  
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name  
  
You think the only people who are people  
  
Are the people who look and think like you  
  
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger  
  
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew  
  
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon  
  
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?  
  
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?  
  
Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?  
  
Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?  
  
Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest  
  
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the Earth  
  
Come roll in all the riches all around you  
  
And for once, never wonder what they're worth  
  
The rainstorm and the river are my brothers  
  
The heron and the otter are my friends  
  
And we are all connected to each other  
  
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends  
  
How high will the sycamore grow?  
  
If you cut it down, then you'll never know  
  
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon  
  
For whether we are white or copper skinned  
  
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains  
  
We need to paint with all the colours of the wind  
  
You can own the Earth and still  
  
All you'll own is Earth until  
  
You can paint with all the colours of the wind  
  
"It's nice, isn't it?"  
  
Harry was brought back to his senses once again. "Yeah – you can really sing – I never thought you could…"  
  
"Mmm, yeah – I write songs too. I would sing you one if I wasn't so…sort of worried...worried that they're not exactly…"  
  
"Exactly what?"  
  
"Professional…"  
  
"Well, what can you expect from ten-year-olds? Stella-Hermione, you're only ten, remember that."  
  
"What makes you think that?"  
  
"It's just that you are."  
  
"I am?" Before he could answer, she pushed him off the Thestral and into the orange carpet below.  
  
"What kind of idiot are you? You're smart in school but you have no common sense?"  
  
"No common sense?"  
  
"You could've broken something by doing that!"  
  
"Falling unto a leafy cushion?"  
  
"That is dangerous, you idiot!"  
  
"No it's not – I've done it a million times before – even without the leaves."  
  
"Can we cut the talk about the leaves?"  
  
"You'll have to shut me up first."  
  
"Wait…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you have control over nature or something?"  
  
"Don't all witches?"  
  
"Not all of them," Harry told her, thinking of Pansy Parkinson.  
  
"Well, I'll tell you one thing."  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"You can't shut me up – it's not possible to."  
  
"You're even more talkative than…"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Just someone I was thinking about…"  
  
"All right. I'll shut up now, like you'd like me to."  
  
But before Harry had a chance to reply…  
  
Stella-Hermione pulled him deep down into the carpet of leaves and fixed her mouth on his.   
  
"You're tense," she accused, when they broke off. "Something's on your mind."  
  
"Actually, come to think of it, that's true…"  
  
"Well, what is it?"  
  
"My owl, Hedwig."  
  
"Oh yeah – you don't want her to have to drink the results of your hazardous Polyjuice Potion."  
  
"How did you know that?"  
  
"I have ways…"  
  
"But do you know how to solve the problem?"  
  
"Leave it to me – when does she have to drink it?"  
  
"Next Friday," Harry thought gloomily.  
  
"That's easy then – just try – remember this – you can take an owl to potion, but you can't make it drink."   
  
Then she put her hand on his, but it was burning with heat. Startled, Harry flinched. The child fled. Harry was so taken aback that he abstained from following her, and went in the opposite direction. There, he found Hermione and Ron doing exactly what he had been doing thirty seconds before. Hoping they had not spotted him, Harry took a leaf out of Stella-Hermione's book and took flight. 


End file.
